To Days of Inspiration
by wren3
Summary: A retelling, and then continuation of Rent through the eyes of a feminine version of our favourite angsty awkward filmmaker and narrator. Yes, Mark is now Marcella instead
1. Chapter 1

**I am not sure why, but my favourite character from "Rent" is Mark, so writing a story from his perspective seemed like a good idea. Then I thought I could make it a bit interesting by doing a gender switch – what if the filmmaker/narrator had been born a girl instead? How would the events of the play be different? How would the future for our characters be different? So here is Marcella Cohen's story. Please enjoy. Standard disclaimer applies. Wren  
**

**Chapter 1: "Somewhere Else..Not Here."**

_We begin on Christmas Eve with me, Marcella, and my roommate, Roger. We live in an _

_industrial loft on the corner of 11th Street and Avenue B, the top floor of what was once a _

_music publishing factory. Old rock and roll posters hang on the walls. They have Roger's _

_picture advertising gigs at CBGB's and the Pyramid Club. We have an illegal wood _

_burning stove; its exhaust pipe crawls up to a skylight. All of our electrical appliances _

_are plugged into one thick extension cord which snakes its way out a window. Outside, a _

_small tent city has sprung up in the lot next to our building. Inside, we are freezing _

_because we have no heat. _

She turned the camera on Roger "Smile!"

He looked up. God, he was one of the most photogenic people she knew, just plain

attractive. She could appreciate that objectively with what her Mom had

always called "the artist's eye." Truth be told, the contours of

his face, his green eyes, the way his blond hair fell across his forehead, by now were as

familiar to her as her own reflection. She knew how people noticed his looks, especially

when she - gangly, thick glasses, freckles, carrot red braids that hadn't ever changed

much-was beside him.

That was because she could barely remember_ not_ being beside him. After all, the had met

on the first day of the First Grade at Robert Kennedy Elementary in Scarsdale. She'd

fought off the bullies, when he was smaller than she was. He'd been her voice and her

buffer when she had grown terribly shy in their teenage years. And when they had

graduated, when Roger had gone off touring with his band and Marcella had moved into

the city to go to NYU for her degree in film they'd seen each other whenever they had the

chance, just the same. And they kept in touch, writing long letters when they didn't have

the money for the long distance calls.

And even when Roger had met Maureen-at a summer fringe festival upstate- and her then

boyfriend, Benny and even when Marcella had becomes friends with her TA in the "New

Technology in Film" course, Tom Collins, even when they had all become a unit of sorts,

it was always Roger and Marcella. And they were the only ones who were left, now.

Benny had broken up with Maureen, married Allison and become a totally different

person.

Then Collins had been offered a position at MIT and had moved to Boston, leaving them

the apartment-which had been his to begin with. Maureen was the last to go, when she'd

happened to be in the same office building elevator as a lawyer named Joanne Jefferson .

So Marcella, Roger and more often than not April had been on their own.

Their friendship had come full circle again and Marcella for the last year had been the

one taking care of Roger. Or she'd tried her best, anyway. That is how

it is with substance abuse...no one else can bring about the change to get you to stop, and

you come to the point where you don't care about anything. So she hadn't been able to do

much. But she had made sure that Roger and April had a safe place to crash and food at

least.

And she'd hoped for a turning point. It came eventually but not in a way anyone would

expect, that evening she'd come to meet Roger at April's apartment-well to be precise, it

was owned by her parents, and she was never there much- to the flashing of

emergency lights outside the front door telegraphing that something was really wrong.

What she found when she went inside still haunted her, probably always would. But

she'd held him through that first night after April died and listened with relief as he

finally said he was ready to get off the stuff. She'd looked in the phone book for rehab

clinics the very next morning and found one with a space available. She'd visited him

there every chance she could. And when his program was finished,

she'd taken him home, made sure he took his meds, handled the necessary things that

seemed to not register on his radar these days.

So that was it really, the history of a relationship of twenty years.

Sometimes, when she felt weaker, when she was in her analytical mood, she wondered if

they were as screwed up the proverbial case of the blind leading the blind and as

unhealthy as a pair of chronic enablers. But mostly, now, she was beginning to think that

it would be all right. That they would muddle through together, as long as she didn't

think too much about the horrible awful year they had just lived or think too much about

what was to come with Roger's illness.

She'd almost lost him, nearly, but not quite. That was over and done

now, and things were getting better. This year coming up would be better.

She already felt reassured just seeing Roger pick up his guitar, and to film him - it felt

right, and she was sure that the new direction she was taking in her work would prove

productive.

Of course, Roger wasn't so happy about her idea, but he put up with it-probably no one

else would-and grumbled that the guitar wouldn't tune. And-probably no one else would-

she teased him that that is a risk you take when you don't touch your instrument for a

year. Then she took a deep breath.

_Here goes..._

"Tell the folks at home what you're doing, Roger."

"I'm writing one great song.."

The ringing of the phone interrupted what he was saying. He actually did smile, relieved.

"Saved by the bell."

Marcella grinned wickedly "Hold that thought. Remember, we screen. Zoom in on the

answering machine."

Their outgoing message came on, the two of them, their voices low and goofy.

"Speeeaak!" (She really thought they should change that but had never gotten around to

it) and then the beep.

It was her mother. Marcella's stomach tightened. "Marcie," Roger had said once, "I love

your family, really I do, they are practically my own family. But they're nuts." Well, to

put it diplomatically, they were all strong personalities. Probably why she had turned out

so reserved.

And her mother was...well...typically, traditionally smothering. It didn't mean that she

didn't enjoy going to visit - especially to see her older sister Cindy's kids Kayleigh and

Matthew-but it was just that you needed to steel yourself before hand. These past six

months hadn't been the time. Her mother rang off and Roger smirked. She glared back,

then pointed the camera in his direction again "You're not off the hook you know. Now

where were we?"

"I'm writing one great song..."

But the phone rang again.

The deep rich voice they both knew instantly came over the machine, singing "The

Christmas Song." Roger hurried to pick up.

"Collins! Hey!"

Marcella felt her spirits lift even more. They hadn't seen Collins in a long

time. She always worried that something would happen with him so far away, and let out

a breath each night when the call bringing bad news didn't come. As unconventional as

he was, he did take care of himself and was so far healthy. He'd been the first person

she'd known with HIV, her first encounter with the disease beyond a lesson in Health

Class.

"Yes it's me." Roger was saying "Yeah yeah I know red letter day, Roger actually

answering the phone, hahaha."

She retrieved her keys and tossed them down to Collins who was right below at the phone

booth on the corner, then turned back to make sure their place was at least something

approaching presentable.

"Detained?" Roger repeated, confused. "What does he mean detained?"

The phone rang again.

"What do you mean detained? Oh, hi Benny sorry thought it was someone else"

Marcella swore under her breath. Benny had his good points-he hadn't lost his charm or

his dreams, nor had he kicked them out when he bought the building. In fact he'd

guaranteed that they would never be charged to live here, which was a big worry off

their minds.

But with Maureen's show coming up-considering the tension that she would cause over

the future of Benny's plans for their area- Marcella had a feeling that he wasn't the

person they wanted to speak to just now. She sat beside Roger and tilted her head toward

his so she could hear what they were saying

"I'm on my way, to collect the rent I need."

"What?"

"Hey, I've let last year slide completely"

"Benny, you promised you wouldn't charge us rent. Before you moved out. Remember?"

"Oh I would never forget those times, no. You guys, me, Collins, Maureen... How is the

Drama Queen?"

Marcella answered cautiously, "She's fine as far as I know. Getting ready to perform

tonight."

"I know," Benny replied ruefully.

Roger glanced at her. Aha. So it was as they had thought. Benny's father-in-law was the

major investor for his Cyberarts project. Mr Grey-of -the-Westport-Greys had probably

heard about Maureen's performance and gotten nervous, sent Benny to law down the law

somehow with her friends. She could hear that Benny felt uncomfortable actually and

she sympathized with him, well, just a little.

"You still working with her, Marcie?"

"Not since last week, no. We had a bit of a fight and she fired me." she admitted. She

didn't want to bring it up again because the argument had been about Roger - that

Marcella cared more about him than Maureen and wasn't really giving all she could to

Maureen's art.

But her roommate wasn't hurt. Roger's eyes glinted with mischief in fact. "Plus, besides

that she's in love."

"Ah yeah, that's typical of Maureen, new man every ten seconds"

"Well, not anymore."

"Oh come on you two, don't play with me, what's his name?"

"Joanne," They chorused.

There was a long minute of dead silence on the other end of the line. Marcella tried to

hold back her laughter, half of her feeling a bit bad for Benny again.

He recovered, and said, "Rent, my _amigos,_ is due, or I will have to give you eviction

notices. See you soon." before hanging up.

Wordlessly they both went back to their work, simply because they didn't know what

else to do.

That lasted about a minute before the power blew.

"Great. Merry Christmas."

She sighed.

" Why do we do this to ourselves?" Roger wondered as he rummaged for a candle.

Marcella blew on her fingers and rubbed her hands together. She had on her old wool

coat and striped scarf over her black and maroon long sleeved tee shirt and her

long denim skirt with the patches, the thickest tights she owned and her black boots but

she was still cold.

"We're caught, is why." She answered. "We're dirt broke, hungry and frozen,

figuratively and literally. But we'd be really miserable if we had it any other way."

Roger laughed, but then went serious.

"You are right in a way. It's in our nature, our blood… I suppose eventually I can get the

music back."

"I'm sure you will. And I might give up on the documentary idea all together and just

shoot the wildest script I can come up with. Probably be more logical and believable

than real life."

She went over to the window. If she craned her neck she could just see the vacant lot

where the people in the tent city were bedding down for the night. There were so many

people out there worse off than she and Roger. And many who had not chosen their lot,

as they had. Maybe that was the why of it all...

Anxiously she looked for any sign of Collins. She began to feel slightly uneasy.

"Where he is anyway?"

Roger frowned

"I'm sure he'll be here in a minute. Hey, but you know what we could do before he

comes?"

She could barely see Roger start to pull his old posters down from the walls. She smiled,

and took the candle from the table, carefully went along to her room and picked up the

pile of old scripts, some she'd written, some she'd agreed to help film, all come to

nothing in the end. Except fuel for their stove. It did warm them up physically just a

little, but what was important was the symbolic act. Burning the past and lighting the path

ahead.

The phone rang again.

She answered hoping it was Collins.

"Marcie! Thank God."

She gritted her teeth, inwardly anyway.

"Hi Maureen, what's up?"

"I'm panicking! I hired Joanne as my Production Manager. But she's saying she doesn't

know what the hell she's doing . And that the digital delay is broken. Please, Marcie,

could you just go down to the performance space and have a look? You're great at that, better than anyone I know."

Somehow, it was hard to keep up resolve and be angry when Maureen pleaded.

"Ok, all right. No problem."

"Thanks Baby. You're the best."

Roger listened with a raised eyebrow.

"Marcella, Marcella. I thought that you had be a guy, and actually involved in a

relationship to qualify as whipped."

"Oh very funny, Rog."

"Seriously, though, after how she treated you…"

"I know.. A part of me wanted to say no ... but I didn't. I can't explain why."

_Maybe you just can't leave the past behind as easily as all that..._

She grabbed her satchel with her equipment in it, and rummaged through the drawer of

the dresser in the kitchen for her small tool kit, which she'd probably need to fix

Maureen's equipment.

"So what are we going to do about Benny?"

She glanced one more time outside. Dark, without promise - at least in their corner of the

world, the fabric was torn by pain, isolation, poverty, betrayal. Giving in to Benny would

be allowing that tear to grow.

They both knew without having to say it - They wouldn't pay Benny. They didn't have

the means to. And he knew that, anyway.

" Well I'll see you later. I'm worried about Collins, so I'm going to try to find him.

Probably I'll just hang out with him until..." Well, a good dose of nagging couldn't hurt.

"Unless, you join me. I...don't suppose that you'd like to see Maureen's show in the lot

tonight or come to dinner?"

He turned and pointed his back pocket at her camera.

"Zoom in on my empty wallet."

She grimaced. "Touché." She took the pills from their shelf in the kitchen, handed them

to him.

"Take your AZT."

Now here was the part where her idea of spontaneous, unscripted filming was hard. She'd

no idea how she could narrate this for the camera, April's bloody suicide, the note saying

"We've got AIDS..." But on the other hand, once she had told the story out loud, then it

would be neatly recorded on the tape, and not gnawing her from inside. So she

explained, quickly, clearly, brutally because that is the only way you can explain such a

thing.

Then she lowered her camera, said softly, "I'll check up on you later. Change your mind.

You need to get out of the house."

And then she left him alone, to think. Or maybe to find what he was looking for. His one

song. His legacy, and his redemption.


	2. Chapter 2: We'll See

**Thanks for the reviews :D IShouldTellYou, I'm sorry the format is odd for you! It is in story format actually, and it appears fine on my computer anyway, I wonder if the format is wonky for anyone else? **

1**Chapter 2: We'll See **

It took about fifteen minutes of wandering-which at least got her blood flowing as her

grandmother would have said-for her to see him, walking a bit stiffly, loaded down with a bucket

that seemed heavy.

"Collins!" She called out and ran to him. She felt that excitement that he brought with him, you

could never predict what he would do next. This was the man who ran naked through the

Parthenon after all.

He put down the bucket and swung her in his arms. She saw him wince a little.

"What happened to you?"

"Got jumped by some punks."

_Oh my God.._.

" Hey, easy, easy. I'm fine. Never been better, in fact."

She didn't know quite what to say to that. He seemed different... happier?

He just chuckled at her confusion.

"Come on."

So she picked up the bucket for him. "This _is_ heavy! What have you got in here anyway?"

He smiled. "No peeking yet! You'll see."

She rolled her eyes. He put an arm around her shoulders and together they walked back up to the

apartment. He took the bucket and she brought out her camera again to film his arrival.

Then he finally let her unpack what he'd brought. Wood for the stove. Groceries, at least enough

to feed them for the week.

"Thank you so much!" she exclaimed.

"Don't mention it."

Roger came out from his room. He looked preoccupied, greeted Collins half heartedly. So she

punched him lightly on the arm and Collins brought out a bottle.

"I prescribe some Stoli," he said. Marcella found some clean glasses, Collins poured out a drink

for each of them. Roger made an effort, lifted his glass "To our Santa Claus. Thanks Collins.

This is amazing."

Collins clinked his glass against Roger's and Marcella did the same.

They swallowed together and Marcella made a face. Strong stuff...

"MIT must pay well," Roger observed.

"Well not exactly," Collins admitted "Not to people whose theories make them nervous. But hey,

that doesn't matter. I can keep doing what I do right here - got a position at NYU starting after

the break. Hey, how about you, Roger? Hope you've at least been outside since we last talked"

"Nope. But I have a good excuse. I was waiting for you."

Collins studied Roger carefully. Things had started to go wrong just after Collins had left for

Boston. It was just after that when the manager of Roger's band had taken off with most of

their money, and that had been too much for the band to survive. And then there was the

wild, seductive, rebellious girl with the smile that Roger had noticed from the stage during one of

their last shows. But then Marcella knew she couldn't blame the breakup of the band, or April,

not really. No, Roger's problems had started long before that. When his dad had left...they'd

been 12, 13 maybe when he'd packed his stuff one night and took off. Roger had never talked

about it - he was a guy after all- but well, she'd known him for a long time even then, and when

you know someone for a long time you don't always need to talk. She knew very well how

deeply Roger's father had hurt him. His mother was a very gentle woman and she had tried so

hard, but nothing could heal when Roger's dad made promises that he never kept, again and

again (well, he had presented Roger with the Fender on his sixteenth birthday, and Roger had

preceded to annoy everyone with constant playing - Marcella wasn't sure even now how many

more times she'd have to hear Musetta's waltz. But she couldn't imagine any differently,

because it is an essential part of who Roger is). She knew without being told that he'd always

been reckless and restless. And she knew too, what the temptations were when

Roger starting getting successful. There were dangers, in that world he'd entered. But then, she

often thought that any explanation of how he'd started doing drugs was useless, because it

couldn't justify his choice.

Anyway, Collins hadn't been here for the worst of it, but he'd been an enormous help to them

both, just hearing his voice over the phone , having him to talk to, and his insights...they

wouldn't have made it without him. IT was because he'd been away awhile that he could better

tell how Roger was doing. So Marcella in her turn studied Collins, trying to gauge his reaction.

She relaxed when he gave her a wink. He was pleased with what he saw. Then he continued,

"Well from what I hear, there's quite a shindig planned tonight. Sounds like good timing."

"Except we have no money to go out."

"Oh, you don't need to worry about that. I think it's time I introduce our Christmas benefactor.

Allow me to propose a new member to our organization. The beautiful, the

generous, the talented, Angel Dumott Schunard." Finally it clicked, why Collins seemed so at

peace. The way his voice went all soft and mushy when he said the name.

The door slid open and well it would have been hard to miss the person who stood there. She-

He-was wearing an elf suit of red velvet, trimmed with white fur, the whole nine yards, zebra

striped stockings and black platform shoes. On anyone else, it would have looked really odd but

it didn't on Angel. He was naggingly familiar.. Oh yes of course... the drummer from the corner.

"Hi! You must be Marcella and this has to be Roger."

She handed them each a wad of hundred dollar bills.

"Got a windfall today and I thought, hell, it's Christmas, I can't keep it for myself, not today"

Neither could think of anything to say in return, could only sit stupidly, mouths open.

_Funny, how much you can miss... All those times I hurried past our corner and he was there. I _

_never learned his name-such a fitting name, never saw this other side to him . And most of all, I _

_never got to know that the slim figure drumming away contained an exceptionally giving soul..._

Angel laughed. "Well honey, it looks like my plan to make an entrance worked perfectly."

Collins chuckled. "Indeed it did."

Roger managed to find his voice first.

"You earned this on the street?"

"Oh but it was my lucky day today."

They listened spellbound how Angel had met a lady who had offered him a thousand dollars to

take care of a problem for her. Marcella bit her lip - it was horrible but she couldn't help being

amused at the idea of a hit being taken out on a little yappy dog. Angel went on to say that

everything had gone off without a hitch, he'd collected his fee and then had come across Collins.

That was a sobering thought...that otherwise their friend might still be lying on the pavement

somewhere because she and Roger hadn't seen what happened. She looked over at Roger he

was smiling at this part. Well, Angel had certainly proved to be a good nurse... and more, it

looked like. She couldn't help smiling back.

They both applauded when Angel had finished - it seemed only appropriate since he'd really

made the explanation into a performance. Since their gratitude had no words to express.

"Hey, Bum, get your ass away from my car!"

They could Benny yell from the street. Her stomach sank. She fingered her scarf nervously.

Kayleigh had given it to her four years ago, the first Chanukah after she'd moved into the loft.

Her niece had been just five years old then, but Cindy had said that the little girl was insistent on

picking out a gift herself. "Aunt Marcella doesn't have a scarf. She needs one, or she'll be cold.

I like the stripes. They're blue, that's Aunt Marcella's favourite."

Right about now, they probably would all be thinking of going to bed, the special dinner her

mother had worked so hard to prepare would be filling their stomachs, the menorah lit on the

table by the window. Really it would be easy, to go back, wouldn't it? After four years of

picking up and going wherever, whenever there was a job offered, of working long hours on her

footage and making ends meet as a sales assistant at an electronics store. Four years of fighting

constantly to keep afloat, of bearing burdens, fighting problems like Benny's...she could just

stop, pack it in, go home where they would be a welcome for her. Somehow, though, she knew,

it was an idle thought only. Because right here was her home too, for now, maybe for a long

time...as long as her heart told her it was right, as long as there were people needing a voice, just

like she and Roger had said earlier.

So when Benny joined them, she knew that she had just enough determination to step forward

and draw the line.

"Benny, that attitude towards the homeless is exactly what Maureen is protesting tonight"

He just smirked.

"Maureen is protesting losing her performance space. Not my attitude."

"Something has happened to you, Man. Not long ago you weren't so different from us,

but now..." Roger's voice was...not mad…more hurt.

"Hey, all I'm saying is that a landowner has a right to do what he likes with his own property."

"Happy Birthday Jesus" Collins said ironically.

Benny just frowned and turned to Marcella, held out his hand.

"The rent."

"You know we don't have it. You know what we agreed, what _you _promised _us._ I can't believe

you!

He held out his hands palms up.

"Listen, there is one way you won't have to pay."

"Of course there's a catch," Roger added bitterly.

"All you'd have to do is have a friendly chat with Maureen and convince her to cancel her

show."

Marcella rolled her eyes.

"You know you could get an injunction, or call the cops."

Benny nodded.

"Oh I have. The police are on standby. But my investors-"

"Your father-in-law."

"-Would prefer to handle this quietly."

"You can't _quietly_ wipe out an entire tent city then watch "It's a Wonderful Life" on TV,"

Roger pointed out.

Benny, out of discomfort, smiled, endearing, self effacing. Marcella was reminded why Benny

was ideally suited for business, why he could accomplish just about anything he set himself to

do.

"Hey, guys, come on. I'm not a monster. I'm just looking at the big picture. Don't dismiss it.

I'm offering you both, in writing, what you have always wanted, what _we _always dreamed

about. A proper studio to work in. And, with the money from the condos we'll be building, a

decent income for once. You'll consider the opportunity. Or you'll have to pack."

He turned, and was gone.

Angel observe, "That boy could use some Prozac."

"No, something stronger.." Marcella couldn't help adding

"Therapy." Roger suggested tersely.

Collins put his arms around Angel's shoulders.

"That reminds me, we have got to get going."

Angel explained.

"We're going to a Life Support meeting. It's a group for anyone coping with HIV, not just those

who have it, ok Marcella? You'd be welcome."

"Ok, sure I'll be there. I have to stop by the lot first though - got a protest to save."

Roger scoffed. "I would like to know how she manages to lead everyone around by the nose."

"It's the principle, now," she protested. "I'm not doing this for Maureen's sake. Benny would

want nothing better than a technical problem to shut her show down."

"How about you Roger?" Angel asked, "Are you coming?"

"I'm...not really the best company these days."

Marcella rebuked him lightly, "Behave!"

"I'm sure he'll catch up later. Got a lot on his mind, is all. You'll see, we'll see."

As she followed Angel and Collins, who walking closely, arm in arm out the door, Marcella had

a strange feeling the drummer was right. Outside the cold air hit her lungs, and she inhaled of it

deeply, before she walked forward to find out what this evening would bring.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: the Tango: Maureen"

The performance space occupied a corner of the lot, and Marcella filmed it as she entered. The

makeshift stage was nearly but not quite, set up. There was a banner that had the same words as

the posters she had seen up in their area "Maureen Johnson in "Over the Moon" ONE NIGHT

ONLY Christmas Eve 11 pmon the lot. SAVE OUR HOMES."

There was a woman standing near the table where the sound board was. Her hair was neat, her

clothes too, well made, meant to make her look like a lawyer, which she was.

She cleared her throat. Joanne abruptly turned to face her, then kept her eyes on Marcella for a

long moment.

"Marcella?"

She smiled nervously

"Hi"

"I told her not to call you!"

Marcella shrugged helplessly. "That's Maureen. This is so typical of her. But can I help since

I'm here?"

Joanne very coolly told her "I've hired some one."

Marcella didn't think she'd been so effectively or clearly rebuffed ever. But that was fine with

her, considering the circumstances.

"Great. Well, nice to have met you, " she offered politely, then made her exit.

She was almost across the stage area when she heard "Wait!"

She stopped.

Joanne admitted, softly "But I've been waiting for him for three hours"

Her dark eyes...well, there was something more than the frustration with the equipment there.

Marcella simply went back to the table, dropped her bag.

"Maureen told you the digital delay isn't working?"

"Yeah. I think I know how to fix it, if it's the same problem as before."

Marcella bent down to the offending machine. She didn't know when Maureen had acquired her

sound equipment. Back before they had met, anyway, and it had been temperamental then. But

at least it was familiar.

"I need you to speak into the mic. Say anything," she told Joanne.

So Joanne leaned forward, hesitant, and said "Test one two three"

Marcella shuddered. She'd heard that particular phrase far too often, and it held very few

positive associations.

"Anything but that"

She met Joanne's eyes again, briefly, unsure what to say next. For the first time, it clicked, she

should have seen sooner. Joanne was miserable, and it had mostly to do with a certain beautiful

and charismatic performance artist.

"This is weird. Awkward." Joanne finally offered. "I mean, I'm freezing, annoyed, and on top of

everything, here I am with you. My girlfriend's ex"

Marcella hastened to correct her,

"Her ex? Nono, I'm not her ex. Well ex best friend, maybe. Ex production manager, definitely.

But we were never... I mean, didn't she tell you? You're the first...she's always been with guys

before. And hey, look at me" she raked her hand down the length of herself, "not exactly in

Maureen's league anyway, even if we both were lesbian, which we aren't, or rather, I'm not, ..

Maureen wasn't."

Marcella suddenly laughed. "Now I've managed to confuse even myself."

Joanne circled her waist with her arms.

"Oh," she said, pained.

"Hey, it's ok. Believe me I've known Maureen long enough to know being involved with her is

enough to drive anyone crazy."

Joanne stiffened. Damn. She'd just put the other woman on the defensive.

But gently, she said, "A friend of mine, former friend, really, used to date her. Benny, he... I

remember sitting with him one night, he was drunk, completely wasted. He kept talking about

how she was torturing him. Dangling him by the nose, mangling his heart. He left soon after

that..."

Joanne insisted "It's different with me,"

Marcella raised an eyebrow. Joanne was obviously denying, and Marcella thought she knew

how to get her to face up. Trouble was, it was personal and she didn't know Joanne that well.

But then she decided. It would be for the other woman's own good. "Really? She's never done

the whole pouty lip thing with you, she doesn't call you pookie?"

"Never," Joanne looked away and bit her lip.

"And I don't suppose then that you've ever had a moment of doubt, when she kisses you?"

Joanne seemed to slump in defeat. "It's spooky almost, what you know about her."

"Well when you live with someone for four years..."

"Did... I suppose all those men swooned as soon she walked into the room."

"Oh yes, every time. She has that effect. Should come with a warning label"

"And were there times when there would be more than one?"

Marcella blew out her breath through her teeth. She shot Joanne a sympathetic look

"I'm afraid so," She blushed slightly. "The walls in our apartment aren't very thick,.."

Joanne winced, and looked down at her feet.

"Look, it's true what you said, though. It is different with you. The way she talks about you, it's

more serious than I've ever seen her get about someone."

Joanne sighed.

"I wish I could believe it."

Marcella stopped what she was doing, until it occurred to her that she had known deep down,

what to say..

"Hey, have you ever taken dancing lessons?"

She rose. Joanne looked at her confused.

"Bear with me for a second. I was fifteen and my mom thought ballroom dancing would be

good for my "social skills" she called it. She made me go, actually, I hated it. It was at the

Scarsdale Jewish Community Center. I was paired with Nanette Himmelfarb, the Rabbi's

daughter. There weren't as many boys... I tried to get Roger to come with me, but there was no way. He was glad, he said, to do a lot of stuff for me, but a line had to be

drawn somewhere." Marcella didn't know why she was telling Joanne all this.

Joanne was a little amused in spite of herself. "Well mine is a bit different. I was roped in by the

daughter of a French ambassador at my boarding school, to be her practice partner...but I don't

see what that has to do..."

"They taught you the tango, right?"

"Yeah"

Well, I know it probably sounds really corny, but well if I think of Maureen, I think of that.

Slightly dark, passionate, maybe a bit wild. Or maybe she's like an especially dizzying

rollercoaster, who knows..."

Joanne nodded somberly.

"I think it applies equally, whether you are a friend or something else. It's not anyone's fault.

Maureen can be immature, unpredictable. She's self

absorbed. You can't count on her. You know that being involved with her will cost you.. But

well, the thing is, you can't help loving her anyway."

Joanne said, "I think that is just exactly right...you know, Marcella, that's good advice. Um, can

I give you some in return?"

"Sure."

_In for a penny in for a pound, Mom would say..._

"I just notice you're pretty down on yourself. You have no reason to be."

Marcella blinked. For the first time, she wondered who felt more sorry for whom. "I...I guess I

am...I.. Well, I'm the one with no luck when it comes to

relationships. Really, to the point where my last serious boyfriend was the boy who took me

to me to senior prom."

"Okay, that's pretty sad." Joanne acknowledged, her eyes sparkling teasingly.

"Yep."

Joanne went serious again.

"But what about this Roger guy?"

"Roger? The first time I met Roger, he dumped glue all in my hair."

Joanne gave the same confused frown again.

"We were six," Marcella explained, "His desk at

school was behind mine - alphabetical order, the teacher arranged us in, Cohen, then Davis. He

wasn't a very coordinated kid. Or at least, that's what he would

say if you asked him about it now, he probably never wants me to know that he did it on

purpose."

"You've known him a long time."

"He's more like my brother. I suppose that's the trouble, I mean, I can make friends with guys

easily enough, but somehow that's how it stays. Ah well, such is my pathetic life. Most people

get it right eventually. And if you don't, well, I can't see what's so bad about being on your own,

anyway."

She knelt down again and put the cover back on where she'd had to get at the loose wire.

"There. Now we can see if this works."

She looked up again. Joanne's eyes were far away.

"Try the mic again, Joanne?"

The lawyer sighed,

"My Maureen..."

Joanne's voice echoed perfectly around the performance space.

Marcella grinned. "Patched."

Joanne smiled back, gratefully.

"Thanks."

"No problem. Thank you for the talk. I think I needed it. I feel lighter. Much better."

Joanne replied ruefully , "I feel lousy."

Marcella winced in sympathy.

_Odd, isn't it, I am just free of the storm, and she's right in the middle of it..._

"But I'll figure things out, one way or another." Joanne added.

"I am sure you will. I should be going, my friends are waiting for me. Take care of yourself,

okay?"

"Yeah, all right. You too."

She snuck a glance back to see Joanne, distressed, going through the checklist that Maureen had

written. It occurred to her that she'd made a friend where she'd never expected to

find one. That one other person had provided enough experience for them to share. Marcella

smiled toherself_. That's the Tango: Maureen..._


End file.
